In June 1861 I was nominated sergeant of the Corps of Pages. Some of
our officers, I must say, did not like the idea of it, saying that
there would be no discipline with me acting as a sergeant, but it could
not be helped; it was usually the first pupil of the upper form who was
nominated sergeant, and I had been at the top of our form for several
years in succession. This appointment was considered very enviable, not
only because the sergeant occupied a privileged position in the school
and was treated like an officer, but especially because he was also the
page de chambre of the emperor for the time being; and to be personally
known to the emperor was of course considered as a stepping-stone to
further distinctions. The most important point to me was, however,
that it freed me from all the drudgery of the inner service of the
school, which fell on the pages de chambre, and that I should have
for my studies a separate room where I could isolate myself from the
bustle of the school. True, there was also an important drawback to it:
I had always found it tedious to pace up and down, many times a day,
the whole length of our rooms, and used therefore to run the distance
full speed, which was severely prohibited; and now I should have to
walk very solemnly, with the service book under my arm, instead of
running! A consultation was even held among a few friends of mine upon
this serious matter, and it was decided that from time to time I could
still find opportunities to take my favourite runs; as to my relations
with all the others, it depended upon myself to put them on a new
comradelike footing, and this I did.
The pages de chambre had to be at the palace frequently, in attendance
at the great and small _levées_, the balls, the receptions, the gala
dinners, and so on. During Christmas, New Year, and Easter weeks we
were summoned to the palace almost every day, and sometimes twice a
day. Moreover, in my military capacity of sergeant I had to report to
the emperor every Sunday, at the parade in the riding-school, that ‘all
was well at the company of the Corps of Pages,’ even when one-third
of the school was ill of some contagious disease. ‘Shall I not report
to-day that all is not quite well?’ I asked the colonel on this
occasion. ‘God bless you,’ was his reply, ‘you ought only to say so if
there were an insurrection!’
Court life has undoubtedly much that is picturesque about it. With its
elegant refinement of manners--superficial though it may be--its strict
etiquette, and its brilliant surroundings, it is certainly meant to
be impressive. A great _levée_ is a fine pageant, and even the simple
reception of a few ladies by the empress becomes quite different from
a common call when it takes place in a richly decorated drawing-room
of the palace--the guests ushered by chamberlains in gold-embroidered
uniforms, the hostess followed by brilliantly dressed pages and a
suite of ladies, and everything conducted with striking solemnity.
To be an actor in the Court ceremonies, in attendance upon the chief
personages, offered something more than the mere interest of curiosity
for a boy of my age. Besides, I then looked upon Alexander II. as a
sort of hero; a man who attached no importance to the Court ceremonies,
but who, at this period of his reign, began his working day at six
in the morning, and was engaged in a hard struggle with a powerful
reactionary party in order to carry through a series of reforms in
which the abolition of serfdom was only the first step.
But gradually, as I saw more of the spectacular side of Court life,
and caught now and then a glimpse of what was going on behind the
scenes, I realized not only the futility of these shows and the things
they were intended to conceal, but also that these small things so
much absorbed the Court as to prevent consideration of matters of far
greater importance. The realities were often lost in the acting. And
then from Alexander II. himself slowly faded the aureole with which my
imagination had surrounded him; so that by the end of the year, even if
at the outset I had cherished some illusions as to useful activity in
the spheres nearest to the palace, I should have retained none.
On every important holiday, as also on the birthdays and name days
of the emperor and empress, on the coronation day, and on other
similar occasions, a great _levée_ was held at the palace. Thousands
of generals and officers of all ranks, down to that of captain, as
well as the high functionaries of the civil service, were arranged in
lines in the immense halls of the palace, to bow at the passage of the
emperor and his family, as they solemnly proceeded to the church. All
the members of the imperial family came on those days to the palace,
meeting together in a drawing-room and merrily chatting till the moment
arrived for putting on the mask of solemnity. Then the column was
formed. The emperor, giving his hand to the empress, opened the march.
He was followed by his page de chambre, and he in turn by the general
aide-de-camp, the aide-de-camp on duty that day, and the minister of
the imperial household; while the empress, or rather the immense train
of her dress, was attended by her two pages de chambre, who had to
support the train at the turnings and to spread it out again in all its
beauty. The heir-apparent, who was a young man of eighteen, and all
the other grand dukes and duchesses, came next, in the order of their
right of succession to the throne--each of the grand duchesses followed
by her page de chambre; then there was a long procession of the ladies
in attendance, old and young, all wearing the so-called Russian
costume--that is, an evening dress which was supposed to resemble the
costume worn by the women of Old Russia.
As the procession passed I could see how each of the eldest military
and civil functionaries, before making his bow, would try to catch the
eye of the emperor, and if he had his bow acknowledged by a smiling
look of the Tsar, or by a hardly perceptible nod of the head, or
perchance by a word or two, he would look round upon his neighbours,
full of pride, in the expectation of their congratulations.
From the church the procession returned in the same way, and then
everyone hurried back to his own affairs. Apart from a few devotees and
some young ladies, not one in ten present at these _levées_ regarded
them otherwise than as a tedious duty.
Twice or thrice during the winter great balls were given at the palace,
and thousands of people were invited to them. After the emperor had
opened the dances with a polonaise, full liberty was left to every one
to enjoy the time as he liked. There was plenty of room in the immense
brightly illuminated halls, where young girls were easily lost to the
watchful eyes of their parents and aunts, and many thoroughly enjoyed
the dances and the supper, during which the young people managed to be
left to themselves.
My duties at these balls were rather difficult. Alexander II. did
not dance, nor did he sit down, but he moved all the time amongst
his guests, his page de chambre having to follow him at a distance,
so as to be within easy call, and yet not inconveniently near. This
combination of presence with absence was not easy to attain, nor did
the emperor require it: he would have preferred to be left entirely to
himself; but such was the tradition, and he had to submit to it. The
worst was when he entered a dense crowd of ladies who stood round the
circle in which the grand dukes danced, and slowly circulated among
them. It was not at all easy to make a way through this living garden,
which opened to give passage to the emperor, but closed in immediately
behind him. Instead of dancing themselves, hundreds of ladies and girls
stood there, closely packed, each in the expectation that one of the
grand dukes would perhaps notice her and invite her to dance a waltz
or a polka. Such was the influence of the Court upon St. Petersburg
society that if one of the grand dukes cast his eye upon a girl, her
parents would do all in their power to make their child fall madly
in love with the great personage, even though they knew well that
no marriage could result from it--the Russian grand dukes not being
allowed to marry ‘subjects’ of the Tsar. The conversations which I once
heard in a ‘respectable’ family, connected with the Court, after the
heir-apparent had danced twice or thrice with a girl of seventeen, and
the hopes which were expressed by her parents, surpassed all that I
could possibly have imagined.
* * * * *
Every time that we were at the palace we had lunch or dinner there,
and the footmen would whisper to us bits of news from the scandalous
chronicle of the place, whether we cared for it or not. They knew
everything that was going on in the different palaces--that was their
domain. For truth’s sake, I must say that during the year which I speak
of that sort of chronicle was not as rich in events as it became in the
seventies. The brothers of the Tsar were only recently married, and
his sons were all very young. But the relations of the emperor himself
with the Princess X., whom Turguéneff has so admirably depicted in
‘Smoke’ under the name of Irène, were even more freely spoken of by
the servants than by St. Petersburg society. One day, however, when
we entered the room where we used to dress, we were told, ‘The X. has
to-day got her dismissal--a complete one this time.’ Half an hour
later we saw the lady in question coming to assist at Mass, with her
eyes swollen from weeping, and swallowing her tears during the Mass,
while the other ladies managed so to stand at a distance from her as
to put her in evidence. The footmen were already informed about the
incident, and commented upon it in their own way. There was something
truly repulsive in the talk of these men, who the day before would have
crouched down before the same lady.
The system of espionage which is exercised in the palace, especially
around the emperor himself, would seem almost incredible to the
uninitiated. The following incident will give some idea of it. A few
years later, one of the grand dukes received a severe lesson from a
St. Petersburg gentleman. The latter had forbidden the grand duke
his house, but, returning home unexpectedly, he found him in his
drawing-room and rushed upon him with his lifted stick. The young man
dashed down the staircase, and was already jumping into his carriage
when the pursuer caught him, and dealt him a blow with his stick. The
policeman who stood at the door saw the adventure and ran to report
it to the chief of the police, General Trépoff, who, in his turn,
jumped into his carriage and hastened to the emperor, to be the first
to report the ‘sad incident.’ Alexander II. summoned the grand duke
and had a talk with him. A couple of days later, an old functionary
who belonged to the Third Section of the emperor’s chancery--that is,
to the state police--and who was a friend at the house of one of my
comrades, related the whole conversation. ‘The emperor,’ he informed
us, ‘was very angry, and said to the grand duke in conclusion, “You
should know better how to manage your little affairs.”’ He was asked,
of course, how he could know anything about a private conversation, but
the reply was very characteristic: ‘The words and the opinions of his
Majesty must be known to our department. How otherwise could such a
delicate institution as the state police be managed? Be sure that the
emperor is the most closely watched person in all St. Petersburg.’
There was no boasting in these words. Every minister, every
governor-general, before entering the emperor’s study with his reports,
had a talk with the private valet of the emperor, to know what was
the mood of the master that day; and according to that mood he either
laid before him some knotty affair, or let it lie at the bottom of
his portfolio in hope of a more lucky day. The governor-general of
East Siberia, when he came to St. Petersburg, always sent his private
aide-de-camp with a handsome gift to the private valet of the emperor.
‘There are days,’ he used to say, ‘when the emperor would get into a
rage, and order a searching inquest upon everyone and myself, if I
should lay before him on such a day certain reports; whereas there are
other days when all will go off quite smoothly. A precious man that
valet is.’ To know from day to day the frame of mind of the emperor
was a substantial part of the art of retaining a high position--an
art which later on Count Shuváloff and General Trépoff understood to
perfection; also Count Ignátieff, who, I suppose from what I saw of
him, possessed that art even without the help of the valet.
At the beginning of my service I felt a great admiration for Alexander
II., the liberator of the serfs. Imagination often carries a boy beyond
the realities of the moment, and my frame of mind at that time was such
that if an attempt had been made in my presence upon the Tsar I should
have covered him with my body. One day, at the beginning of January
1862, I saw him leave the procession and rapidly walk alone toward the
halls where parts of all the regiments of the St. Petersburg garrison
were aligned for a parade. This parade usually took place outdoors, but
this year, on account of the frost, it was held indoors, and Alexander
II., who generally galloped at full speed in front of the troops at
the reviews, had now to march in front of the regiments. I knew that
my Court duties ended as soon as the emperor appeared in his capacity
of military commander of the troops, and that I had to follow him to
this spot, but no further. However, on looking round, I saw that he was
quite alone. The two aides-de-camp had disappeared, and there was with
him not a single man of his suite. ‘I will not leave him alone!’ I said
to myself, and followed him.
Whether Alexander II. was in a great hurry that day, or had other
reasons to wish that the review should be over as soon as possible, I
cannot say, but he dashed in front of the troops, and marched along
their rows at such a speed, making such big and rapid steps--he was
very tall--that I had the greatest difficulty in following him at my
most rapid pace, and in places had almost to run in order to keep close
behind him. He hurried as if he ran away from a danger. His excitement
communicated itself to me, and every moment I was ready to jump in
front of him, regretting only that I had on my ordnance sword and not
my own sword, with a Toledo blade, which pierced coppers and was a far
better weapon. It was only after he had passed in front of the last
battalion that he slackened his pace, and, on entering another hall,
looked round, to meet my eyes glittering with the excitement of that
mad march. The younger aide-de-camp was running at full speed, two
halls behind. I was prepared to get a severe scolding, instead of which
Alexander II. said to me, perhaps betraying his own inner thoughts:
‘You here? Brave boy!’ and as he slowly walked away he turned into
space that problematic, absent-minded gaze which I had begun often to
notice.
Such was then the attitude of my mind. However, various small
incidents, as well as the reactionary character which the policy of
Alexander II. was decidedly taking, instilled more and more doubts
into my heart. Every year, on January 6, a half Christian and half
pagan ceremony of sanctifying the waters is performed in Russia. It is
also performed at the palace. A pavilion is built on the Nevá River,
opposite the palace, and the imperial family, headed by the clergy,
proceed from the palace, across the superb quay, to the pavilion, where
a Te Deum is sung, and the cross is plunged into the water of the
river. Thousands of people stand on the quay and on the ice of the Nevá
to witness the ceremony from a distance. All have to stand bareheaded
during the service. This year, as the frost was rather sharp, an old
general had put on a wig, and in the hurry of drawing on his cape,
his wig had been dislodged and now lay across his head, without his
noticing it. The grand duke Constantine, having caught sight of it,
laughed the whole time the Te Deum was being sung, with the younger
grand dukes, looking in the direction of the unhappy general, who
smiled stupidly without knowing why he was the cause of so much
hilarity. Constantine finally whispered to the emperor, who also looked
at the general and laughed.
A few minutes later, as the procession once more crossed the quay, on
its way back to the palace, an old peasant, bareheaded too, pushed
himself through the double hedge of soldiers who lined the path of the
procession, and fell on his knees just at the feet of the emperor,
holding out a petition, and crying with tears in his eyes, ‘Father,
defend us!’ Ages of oppression of the Russian peasantry was in this
exclamation; but Alexander II., who a few minutes before laughed during
the church service at a wig lying the wrong way, now passed by the
peasant without taking the slightest notice of him. I was close behind
him, and only saw in him a shudder of fear at the sudden appearance
of the peasant, after which he went on without deigning even to
cast a glance on the human figure at his feet. I looked round. The
aides-de-camp were not there; the grand duke Constantine, who followed,
took no more notice of the peasant than his brother did; there was
nobody even to take the petition, so that I took it, although I knew
that I should get a scolding for doing so. It was not my business to
receive petitions, but I remembered what it must have cost the peasant
before he could make his way to the capital, and then through the lines
of police and soldiers who surrounded the procession. Like all peasants
who hand petitions to the Tsar, he was going to be put under arrest,
for no one knows how long.
* * * * *
On the day of the emancipation of the serfs Alexander II. was
worshipped at St. Petersburg; but it is most remarkable that, apart
from that moment of general enthusiasm, he had not the love of the
city. His brother Nicholas--no one could say why--was at least very
popular among the small tradespeople and the cabmen; but neither
Alexander II., nor his brother Constantine, the leader of the reform
party, nor his third brother, Michael, had won the hearts of any class
of people in St. Petersburg. Alexander II. had retained too much of
the despotic character of his father, which pierced now and then
through his usually good-natured manners. He easily lost his temper,
and often treated his courtiers in the most contemptuous way. He was
not what one would describe as a reliable man, either in his policy
or in his personal sympathies, and he was vindictive. I doubt whether
he was sincerely attached to anyone. Some of the men in his nearest
surroundings were of the worst description--Count Adlerberg, for
instance, who made him pay over and over again his enormous debts, and
others renowned for their colossal thefts. From the beginning of 1862
he commenced to show himself capable of reviving the worst practices
of his father’s reign. It was known that he still wanted to carry
through a series of important reforms in the judicial organization
and in the army; that the terrible corporal punishments were about to
be abolished, and that a sort of local self-government, and perhaps
a constitution of some sort, would be granted. But the slightest
disturbance was repressed under his orders with a stern severity; he
took each movement as a personal offence, so that at any moment one
might expect from him the most reactionary measures.
The disorders which broke out at the universities of St.
Petersburg, Moscow, and Kazán in October 1861 were repressed with
an ever-increasing strictness. The university of St. Petersburg
was closed, and although free courses were opened by most of the
professors at the Town Hall, they also were soon closed, and the best
professors left the university. Immediately after the abolition of
serfdom, a great movement began for the opening of Sunday schools; they
were opened everywhere by private persons and corporations--all the
teachers being volunteers--and the peasants and workers, old and young,
flocked to these schools. Officers, students, even a few pages, became
teachers; and such excellent methods were worked out that (Russian
having a phonetic spelling) we succeeded in teaching a peasant to read
in nine or ten lessons. But suddenly all Sunday schools, in which
the mass of the peasantry would have learned to read in a few years,
without any expenditure by the State, were closed. In Poland, where a
series of patriotic manifestations had begun, the Cossacks were sent
out to disperse the crowds with their whips, and to arrest hundreds of
people in the churches with their usual brutality. Men were shot in the
streets of Warsaw by the end of 1861, and for the suppression of the
few peasant insurrections which broke out the horrible flogging through
the double line of soldiers--that favourite punishment of Nicholas
I.--was applied. The despot that Alexander II. became in the years
1870-81 was foreshadowed in 1862.
* * * * *
Of all the imperial family, undoubtedly the most sympathetic was
the empress Marie Alexándrovna. She was sincere, and when she said
something pleasant she meant it. The way in which she once thanked me
for a little courtesy (it was after her reception of the ambassador
of the United States, who had just come to St. Petersburg) deeply
impressed me: it was not the way of a lady spoiled by courtesies, as
an empress is supposed to be. She certainly was not happy in her home
life; nor was she liked by the ladies of the court, who found her too
severe, and could not understand why she should take so much to heart
the _étourderies_ of her husband. It is now known that she played a by
no means unimportant part in bringing about the abolition of serfdom.
But at that time her influence in this direction seems to have been
little known, the grand duke Constantine and the grand duchess Hélène
Pávlovna, who was the main support of Nicholas Milútin at the Court,
being considered the two leaders of the reform party in the palace
spheres. The empress was better known for the decisive part she had
taken in the creation of girls’ gymnasia (high schools), which received
from the outset a high standard of organization and a truly democratic
character. Her friendly relations with Ushínsky, a great pedagogist,
saved him from sharing the fate of all men of mark of that time--that
is, exile.
Being very well educated herself, Marie Alexándrovna did her best to
give a good education to her eldest son. The best men in all branches
of knowledge were sought as teachers, and she even invited for that
purpose Kavélin, although she knew well his friendly relations with
Hérzen. When he mentioned to her that friendship, she replied that she
had no grudge against Hérzen, except for his violent language about the
empress dowager.
The heir-apparent was extremely handsome--perhaps, even too femininely
handsome. He was not proud in the least, and during the _levées_
he used to chatter in the most comradelike way with the pages de
chambre. (I even remember, at the reception of the diplomatic corps on
New Year’s Day, trying to make him appreciate the simplicity of the
uniform of the ambassador of the United States as compared with the
parrot-coloured uniforms of the other ambassadors.) However, those who
knew him well described him as profoundly egoistic, a man absolutely
incapable of contracting an attachment to anyone. This feature was
prominent in him, even more than it was in his father. As to his
education, all the pains taken by his mother were of no avail. In
August 1861 his examinations, which were made in the presence of his
father, proved to be a dead failure, and I remember Alexander II., at a
parade of which the heir-apparent was the commander, and during which
he made some mistake, loudly shouting out, so that everyone would hear
it, ‘Even that you could not learn!’ He died, as is known, at the age
of twenty-two, from some disease of the spinal cord.
His brother, Alexander, who became the heir-apparent in 1865, and later
on was Alexander III., was a decided contrast to Nikolái Alexándrovich.
He reminded me so much of Paul I. by his face, his figure, and his
contemplation of his own grandeur, that I used to say, ‘If he ever
reigns, he will be another Paul I. in the Gátchina palace, and will
have the same end as his great-grandfather had at the hands of his
own courtiers.’ He obstinately refused to learn. It was rumoured
that Alexander II., having had so many difficulties with his brother
Constantine, who was better educated than himself, adopted the policy
of concentrating all his attention on the heir-apparent and neglecting
the education of his other sons; however, I doubt if such was the
case: Alexander Alexándrovich must have been averse to any education
from childhood; in fact, his spelling, which I saw in the telegrams he
addressed to his bride at Copenhagen, was unimaginably bad. I cannot
render here his Russian spelling, but in French he wrote, ‘_Ecri_ à
oncle à propos parade ... les nouvelles sont _mauvaisent_,’ and so on.
He is said to have improved in his manners toward the end of his life,
but in 1870, and also much later, he was a true descendant of Paul I.
I knew at St. Petersburg an officer, of Swedish origin (from Finland),
who had been sent to the United States to order rifles for the Russian
army. On his return he had to report about his mission to Alexander
Alexándrovich, who had been appointed to superintend the re-arming of
the army. During this interview, the Tsarevich, giving full vent to his
violent temper, began to scold the officer, who probably replied with
dignity, whereupon the prince fell into a real fit of rage, insulting
the officer in bad language. The officer, who belonged to that type of
very loyal but self-respecting men who are frequently met with amongst
the Swedish nobility in Russia, left at once, and wrote a letter in
which he asked the heir-apparent to apologize within twenty-four hours,
adding that if the apology did not come he would shoot himself. It was
a sort of Japanese duel. Alexander Alexándrovich sent no excuses, and
the officer kept his word. I saw him at the house of a warm friend
of mine, his intimate friend, when he was expecting every minute to
receive the apology. Next morning he was dead. The Tsar was very angry
with his son, and ordered him to follow the hearse of the officer to
the grave. But even this terrible lesson did not cure the young man of
his Románoff haughtiness and impetuosity.